r and the butcher--and even his life-insurance
premium--because he had an opportunity by a quick use of cash to obtain
the bankrupt stock of a rival dealer who had not nursed his pennies as
Pop had. It was by such purchases that Pop had managed to keep his store
alive and his brilliant children in funds.

He had temporarily drawn his bank account down to the irreducible
minimum and borrowed on his securities up to the insurmountable maximum.
It was a bad time for his children to tap him. But here they were--Jno.
P., Jerry, and Julia--all very unctuous over the home-coming, and yet
all of them evidently cherishing an ulterior idea.

He watched them lounging in fashionable awkwardness. They were brilliant
children. And he was as proud of them as he was afraid of them--and for
them.

II

If the children looked brilliant to Pop he did not reflect their
refulgence. As they glanced from the photographer's proof to Pop they
were not impressed. They were not afraid of him or for him.

His bodily arrangement was pitifully gawky; he neither sat erect nor
lounged--he slumped spineless. Big spectacles were in style now, but
Pop's big spectacles were just out of it. His face was like a parchment
that had been left out in the rain and had dried carelessly in deep,
stiff wrinkles--with the writing washed off.

Ethelwolf, the last born, had no ulterior idea. He always spent his
monthly allowance by the second Tuesday after the first Monday, and
sulked through a period of famine and debt until the next month. It was
now the third Tuesday and he was disposed to sarcasm.

"Look at Pop!" he muttered. "He looks just like the old boy they put in
the cartoons to represent The Common People."

"He's the Beau Brummel of Waupoos, all right!" said Bayahtreatshe, who
was soon returning to Wellesley. And Consuelo, who was preparing for
Vassar, added under her breath, "Mere, can't you steal up on him and
swipe that already-tied tie?"

Had Pop overheard, he would have made no complaint. He had known the
time when they had thrown things at him. The reverence of American
children for their fathers is almost as famous as the meekness of
American wives before their husbands. Yet it might have hurt Pop a
little to see Mother shake her head and hear her sigh:

"He's hopeless, children! Do take warning from my misfortune and be
careful what you marry."

Poor _Mere_ had absolutely forgotten how proud she had been when Johnnie
Grout came court